A Better Class of Criminal
by ArdentProgressive
Summary: He was just one of many criminals in Gotham. You know, ripping off mob dealers, that sort of thing. Just one of many....


Gotham. The city where a nightmare was often reality-or vice versa. Robbery, murder, rape, assault: all common crimes in the city. If you lived to the age of 40 in Gotham, you were considered lucky. It was _that_ bad.

Much of the city was under the control of ruthless mob lords; and Carmine Falcone was the most ruthless and powerful of them all. He had the Gotham City Police Department, the judges, and most of the city's elected officials under his thumb. Few dared to cross him. Those foolish enough to do just that would soon thereafter become targets of missing person investigations by the GCPD-which, of course, wisely did nothing to remotely implicate Falcone in any crime.

But Falcone was far from the only morally repugnant criminal boss in Gotham. There were those of lesser stature, those who had to settle for playing second fiddle to Falcone. And the competition to be the next up-and-coming rival to Falcone's power was very high.

One of those rivals was Joey Rezutelli. Known as being especially cruel and mean-spirited in the Gotham underworld, Rezutelli fashioned himself as a charmer, with his charisma and sense of humor. "Diabolical schemer," however, would have been a better term. For Rezutelli played a twisted game of chess with the rest of the city's crime lords, trading pawns in (often successful) attempts to gain territory and take the king. Rezutelli, of course, had to watch his back. He had made many enemies and had survived two assassination attempts: he had the healed bullet wounds to prove it.

One of the "pawns" in Rezutelli's chess games was a cop named Jason Mitchell. Mitchell, a man of modest means, was one of many so-called "bad cops." Sure, he helped the people of Gotham-right after doing deals with the devil, so to speak. But it was hard to blame him in a city where much of the economy was illegitimate and the best jobs were often to be found in the underworld. He lived with his wife and two kids in an unassuming house on the southeast side of Gotham.

One day, as he was relaxing in his living room with the TV on, Mitchell got a phone call. He checked his Caller ID: "Private Caller." Frowning, Mitchell took the call.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Good evening, Officer Mitchell," came a low, unfamiliar voice. Mitchell was surprised that this caller knew who he was.

"Uh, yeah, that's me. What do you want?" Mitchell asked, feeling a bit unsettled.

"I'll tell you-in a little while. First, meet me by the docks at the end of Fuller Street at seven tonight."

Mitchell checked his watch. It was just after four.

"What if I can't make it?" he responded, feeling both annoyed and nervous.

"Then that's just too bad-for you, and Lisa, and your two little children."

Mitchell felt a wave of panic. _How the fuck does this guy know about my family?_, he thought anxiously.

"F-fine. I'll be there."  
"Good," came the reply. Then the caller hung up.

Three hours later, Mitchell arrived at the docks near the end of Fuller Street. Through the darkness, he could make out the figure of a man wearing a black hat and a dark suit. Mitchell couldn't tell what color the suit was.

"I'm here," Mitchell said as he got out of his car, still clueless as to what in the world was going on.

The man in the dark suit nodded. His face was obscured by the hat and the shadows of the area. "Tell me, Jason, you wouldn't mind committing a crime for me, would ya?"

Mitchell was taken aback. That seemed like an odd question. "Whatever pays the bills. Just as long as it's a light crime like robbery.

"Excellent. I need you to do me a favor. Some of the cops are getting too close to shutting down a business owned by a member of the Rezutelli Crime Family-which you and I both work for. I need you to give those cops false tips so that they will investigate the wrong people. If you succeed, Rezutelli will reward ya-via me."

"How come he's not telling me this himself?"

The mysterious man shrugged. "He is preoccupied at the moment. He sent me specifically."

Mitchell weighed his options. This man clearly knew a lot. He knew Mitchell's full name, who he worked for, and who he was married to. And he was probably dangerous.

Mitchell looked up and nodded. "Ok, if Rezutelli sent you, then I gotta do what I gotta do."

"Good," replied the other man. And with that, he vanished into the darkness.

A few days later, after completing his job for Rezutelli, Jason Mitchell went outside to check the mail. There was an envelope in the mailbox.

Going inside, Mitchell opened the envelope and was amazed to see ten one hundred-dollar bills. The mysterious stranger was right: Rezutelli had rewarded him-and handsomely, at that.

Going into his kitchen, he realized he was very thirsty. When he opened the refrigerator, he was surprised to see a can of Dr. Pepper. _Must have been from one of the kids_, he thought, and when he took it out, he smiled at what he saw. There was a piece of paper the size of a playing card attached to the Dr. Pepper, with a note that said, "For Dad."

Mitchell took opened the can of Dr. Pepper and raised it to his lips. Suddenly, he began to choke on the liquid. The Dr. Pepper slid carelessly from his hand to the floor, as Mitchell continued to choke on the deadly gas he had inhaled.

He fell to the floor, wheezing and clutching his throat. The last thing Jason Mitchell saw before everything went to black was the other side of the piece of paper attached to the can. It was a playing card with a joker on it.

Just a few hours earlier, a maid had discovered the lifeless body of Joey Rezutelli in house. His face had been carved out into what was known as a "Glasgow smile."


End file.
